George Watkins: Boy, have the Olympics changed

In this business it's easy to become jaded and cynical, but I like to think I still have some of that Olympic spirit in me.

Only it may be a bit misplaced.

I sort of find myself rooting for the Russians. This, from someone who was raised during much of the Cold War period.

In my teen-age years the Olympic Games was almost purely USA vs. Russia. It was easy to dislike Russia. They seemed more than willing, and especially eager, to blow us to pieces.

My Dad actually started to dig a bomb shelter in our backyard in the early 1960s during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It was the same spot where I spent many summer afternoons pretending I was the entire National League pitching staff. I would be the starting pitcher for both teams - firing a rubber ball against the fence, complete with a strike zone and boards at weird angles that would send balls careening past me for extra-base hits, over my head for home runs and an occasional grounder between the legs or under my glove for an error.

He didn't get far with the bomb shelter - maybe five feet deep - and it ended up being home for a group of guinea pigs. Once our neighbor's cat discovered who moved in, so did he. Such is the circle of life.

My Dad wasn't the only one in survival mode. We visited some friends who had what seemed like a nuclear submarine in their backyard buried deep underground serving as a bomb shelter. It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen.

There were periodic air raid sirens, and I think a couple of times we sixth-graders had to practice taking cover under our classroom desks. No need to worry about a nuclear bomb so long as there is a school desk close by.

While the threat of war seemed constant, the closest the Americans came to battling the Russians were the Olympic Games.

We ruled basketball, a sport the Russians somehow picked up (that Naismith guy must have really got around), probably because they knew the best way to get an American riled up was to beat him at his own game.

The U.S. had never lost an Olympic basketball game in my lifetime. They had won seven Olympic gold medals since 1936 and all 63 games. They were just college kids, which made it all the more glorious.

Russia and USA met again in the gold medal basketball game in the tragic aftermath of the 1972 Munich Games.

There was no live television.

I was outside shooting hoops on the driveway when I heard in the Russians beat the U.S., but not how they lost.

When the game - tape-delayed - finally aired on television I went inside to watch. What I remembered most was Doug Collins going to the free throw line with four seconds to play and Russia leading 50-49.

He made both free throws. Considering what was at stake, to this day I consider those two free throws the most pressure-packed free throws in U.S. basketball history.

Russia then missed a shot at the buzzer and the U.S. began celebrating.

I turned to my dad and said, "I thought they lost.''

Then everything unraveled.

Russia was given not one, not two but three tries at a winning shot. On the third try a length of the court pass was caught and put in.

Final score: Russia 51, USA 50.

The Americans refused the silver medal. At last report the medals were still locked in a vault in Switzerland.

But things have changed considerably since then.

There was the Miracle on Ice of 1980 - The Great Revenge.

There was the Russian artist, Sasha, my sister brought home one day. He was the first Russian I had ever met. He was a nice guy. My dad took him golfing one day. Sasha finally made it from tee to green. He took aim on his first putt and missed. So he picked up the ball and brought it back to try again. He thought that was how the game was played.

There was the 1988 Olympic Games when America went pro. Suddenly we became the heavies. I loved that underdog role.

Russia, meanwhile, went from less of a nuclear threat to an almost pitiful state of affairs. It seems to be everyone's favorite whipping boy as far as these Winter Olympics are concerned.

The hotel accommodations, the gay rights issue, the rust-colored drinking water, the politics, the terrorist threats, the cost, the poverty, the stray dogs - there seems no end to the list of complaints.

But the people of Russia - at least what I've seen from the comfort of my couch - seem oblivious to the critics. You can't help but admire their Olympic spirit in the face of the relentless bashing by the media.

I feel so sorry for them at times that I find myself rooting for the Russians.

George Watkins is a sports writer for The Salinas Californian. He can be reached at gwatkins@thecalifornian.com and followed on Twitter at watkins_salnews.

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George Watkins: Boy, have the Olympics changed

In this business it's easy to become jaded and cynical, but I like to think I still have some of that Olympic spirit in me.